Players perform elaborate routines
When goals are scored
by my team
They must practise
them for days
But I would prefer in
many ways
That the celebration
performers
Would practise
defending corners
Players perform elaborate routines
When goals are scored
by my team
They must practise
them for days
But I would prefer in
many ways
That the celebration
performers
Would practise
defending corners
In the program they say
He’s a real seasoned
player
But what they really
mean
Is he’s past it the
poor geezer
We have a great Irish international
By the name of Kevin
O’Rourke
Well, when I say he’s
Irish
His parents once went
to Cork
Very economical with the ball
That is a quality
worth merit
Our captain is only
economical
As he’s too slow to
get near it
We have a great Welsh international
Known affectionately
as Griff
Well, when I say he’s
Welsh
His parents once went
to Cardiff
In the program they say of him
That he is a loyal
player to the team
But in truth no other
club
Will have him it would
seem
If the “Gimme Putt”
Is the best you can do
Then I would have to
say
That Golfs not for you
We have a midfield General
Who’s really
completive and hard
But everyone that we play
Just think he’s a
dirty bastard
If your practice swing
Is the best you can do
Then I would have to
say
That Golfs not for you
If you don’t mind playing Golf in the rain,
Snow, Storm, Tempest
or a hurricane,
Then not wishing to
burst your bubble
It’s not just your
golf game that’s in trouble
I have been playing Golf for years
And sometimes it makes
me curse
But it doesn’t matter
how bad I play
I know next time it
could be worse
For most of us weekend golfers
The only wood that is
essential
To carry in your golf
bag
Is a finely sharpened
pencil
The Victorians
Invented a lot of
sports
Or if not invented,
Encouraged their
development
As a means of
instilling, fair play
Teamwork and
discipline
Into the next
generation
As way of training the
youth
For life in the wider
world
I don’t know how
The Victorians would
view
The sportsmen and
women of today
Not favourably I
suspect
Scientists say there are now
Running Genes
But surely it would
chafe
If you ran in Jeans
Sport was industrialised by the Soviet Union
To promote communism
And not the money
hungry capitalist west
But it profited
capitalism
Amateurism, when participating
Was more important
than winning
Well that idealism has
been lost
Because today it’s win
at all cost
I was surprised Mario Balotelli left City
Though it was
surrounded in farce
I would have thought
it more likely
That he’d disappear up
his own arse
I have always been into the occult
I think the spirits
interest me the most
So, the Paralympics
disappointed me
Because I didn’t see a
single ghost
At the Essex Games
Beginning next year
For the Essex folk
Have hit a snack I
fear
On health safety
grounds
There will be no swimming
Because it has
transpired
That the pool was
brimming
With dirty brown water
When every girl and
man
Had dived into the
pool
Wearing too much fake
tan
We were at the weightlifting
Watching the woman at
work
My friend shouted
“great snatch”
I said, “Isn’t this
the clean and jerk?”
For the most splendid
Summer of sport
We should thank Lord
Coe
And all the
ambassadors
All the games makers
And the volunteers
We should thank the
armed forces
For stepping into the
breech
Technicians and
officials
All the competitors
For performing to
their best
And the spectators
Just for being there
And last but by no
means least
For their foresight
All those years ago
In clearing the
Olympic site
We say a big thank you
To the German
Luftwaffe
The Essex Games
Begin next year
For the Essex folk
Who will appear
In manmade fibres
And gaudy splendour
To watch the best of
them
In their endeavours
When Dave and Chelsea
Shazza and Baz
Will perform for us to
watch
In such events as
Copping a strop
Vagazaling
The stiletto 100m
And the bling
Throwing a tantrum
The Alco pop crawl
The face dive
And the ungraceful
fall
As yet the events list
Is relatively small
Unless you can suggest
Anything at all?
Well now the Paralympics are over
The call is coming
loud and clear
To accommodate those
unfortunates
Whose disadvantages
were just too severe
For them to be able to
compete
So, following a simply
inspired idea
Next summer on the
sporting Calendar
A brand-new event will
appear
To accommodate the
unfortunates
When the “Essex Games”
begin next year
I’ve just found out about the clean and jerk
I don’t mind saying I
feel a bit of a burke
In fact I doubt I
could feel any dafter
Because I generally
clean mine after
Professor Sir Ludwig "Poppa" Guttmann
How proud would Ludwig
be?
If he could only see
The oak tree that has
grown
From his tiny acorn
sown
As a Jew he was no
stranger
To prejudice and its
danger
He had seen the Nazi
storm
And they’re concept of
the norm
He saw how
disabilities lead
To the slaughter shed
So he fled to London
And his work was begun
How proud would Poppa
be?
If he could only see
The fruits of his
endeavours
To change the view
forever
Of people written off
“Only cripples?” he
would scoff
He was a tour de force
And single minded of
course
Who didn’t see freak
show exhibits
But challenges to the
human spirit
How proud he would
have been
If he could have only
seen
When Paralympians,
each and every one
Drug cheats should receive,
No second chance, no
reprieve
A total ban for their
crime
And the ban should be
lifetime
The winner of the
event
The one for whom the
gold was meant
Doesn’t stand atop the
podium
And hear their anthem
in the stadium
The true gold medal
recipient
Is for ever robbed of
that moment
Though their honour
was earned
That moment can never
be returned
My mate asked me why
I’m a United fan
I replied that it was
Because my brother Dan
Supported the Reds,
Also, my dad was a
United man
And my mum was a
Lifelong United fan
So that was why I was
also
A Man United fan
“That’s ridiculous” he
said
“What if your brother
was a thug?
Your mum was a
prostitute
And your dad was on
drugs
What would you be
then?
You poor misguided fool?”
“Well obviously” I replied
When I was at school
Our English teacher,
Mrs Rowan
Once asked of us as
homework,
During the half term
holiday
To memorize our
favourite poem,
This was met by
groans,
By the class, but not
me
I chose A.E.Housman’s
“Ode to an athlete
dying young”
And it has stayed with
me ever since
We are traditionalists
In our village
Deep in little
Britain.
And on a weekend
There is nothing
We like better
Than a game
Of ten peasant bowling
The purple depths
Of heather on the hill
Looked down at their reflections
In the watery shadows
Of the timeless loch
We are traditionalists
In our village
Deep in little
Britain.
And on a weekend
There is nothing
We like better
Than a game
Of spin the pauper
It was a bad winter Olympics First it was the Luge I had a go at Then I found myself on thin ice Following some aggressive chat Th...